After Life
by Nick-ed
Summary: A little bit of Stretch. Bad puns and ghostly doo-dads. I cannot write this description for the life of me.


"Where's Uncle Stretch?"

No one answered. Stinky and Fatso were preoccupied with cramming as much food into their cavernous, ghostly mouths while Kat and her father tried desperately not to lose their appetites. The table was being strewn with ectoplasm-drenched chunks of food; pancakes, chunks of fruit, and thin slices of bacon made revolting sounds as they slid through the ghost's "bodies" and hit the smooth floor below. Casper sighed.

"Uncle Stinky, do you know where Uncle Stretch is? It's not like him to miss breakfast," the little spectre said a little more firmly. The buck-toothed ghost paused in the midst of raising a syrup-dripping stack of pancakes to his face. An enormous belch rumbled its way through his throat and exploded shamelessly from between his lips, sending small pieces of food and goo across the table-top.

"Oh, gross!" Kat groaned, covering her face with a napkin defensively. Dr. Harvey merely sat, oblivious, his sleep-encrusted eyes drifting sleepily around the room. He had been up late with the Trio, going over some new techniques involving Rorschach prints. It hadn't gone well, but the ghosts were obviously unfazed by the late night.

Stinky raised his own stained napkin and daintily dabbed at his mouth before turning viciously to his nephew.

"What did ja say, Bulb-Head?" He snapped. Casper winced slightly, shrinking back.

"Uh…Uncle Stretch. Where's Uncle Stretch?" He asked innocently. The odorous ghost glanced to his obese brother, who hadn't faltered in his meal, sitting on his right, and to the empty chair on his left where his other sibling usually resided. He looked back to the little, dead boy and shrugged his shoulders.

"He's pro'lly getting' ready for da National Spook-a-thon Convention," he said casually, "Stretch-face gets kinda excited 'bout these things…yeh, he's pro'lly practisin' 'is sca'es or somthin'." Without waiting for an affirmation or reply, he resumed eating. Casper's brow furrowed.

"It's still not like him," he mumbled. Kat leaned over to him and rested her hand on his reassuringly.

"It's probably fine, Casper," she said, "I wouldn't worry about it. Anyway, this breakfast is about one-third less noisy and chaotic than usual, and—well, actually, it's a little more than that, since Stretch is arguably the most obnoxious…" She added, thoughtfully, and the little ghost couldn't help but chuckle.

"Yeah," he said, "Yeah, I guess he is."

* * *

Kat jiggled the handle, but it wouldn't budge. With an exasperated groan, she banged on the sturdy door.

"Dad," she shouted, "Are you in there? I want to take a shower!" She pressed her ear firmly to the wood.

"No! Go 'way, flesh-bag!" A voice echoed angrily from within. The girl jumped, startled.

"Whoops! Sorry, Stretch! I'll come back later!" She turned to leave, but suddenly froze. She pressed the side of her head to the door again, "Stretch? Why are you in the bathroom? You're dead," she added a little more quietly. She could hear the sound of running water.

There was no answer, and Kat found herself getting jittery and her stomach felt light as her mind raced with possibilities. "Stretch?" She tapped the door, "Are you okay?" A retching sound, like the tearing of thick, wet fabric, ripped through the air, and Kat darted from the door. Inside the bathroom, something brittle shattered into pieces on the tile floor.

"Dad!" She yelled towards her father's office-space, her voice was panicked and her throat felt tight, "Casper! Something's wrong with Stretch!" Casper appeared before her within seconds and she pointed to the locked door, and in the distance, she could hear her father's footfall clattering towards her. He glanced at her nervously before knitting his brow in determination. With a deep breath, he glided through the door and disappeared. Dr. Harvey came up behind his daughter, slightly breathless, and grabbed her arm.

"Honey, what's wrong?" He panted.

"Stretch locked himself in the bathroom, and it sounded like he was…throwing up, or something…but—"

Voices from within the bathroom caught her attention and she was silent, listening intently. She could only make out snippets of yelling over the rushing sound of the sink and the clashes of more things breaking. Her father's grip on her tightened slightly, and he pulled her away from the door to a safer distance. He saw staring intently at the doorway, his face wrinkled with concern, and his mind racing with theories.

"No! I can—" Stretch's voice rang out harshly, "Look, Short-Sheet, you don't know nothin'—Shut the-! Get the-! GET THE HELL-!"

Casper's translucent form erupted from the door, traveling through the hallway, and through the opposite wall. Kat stared, terrified, at the still glowing spot on the wall-paper where her friend had vanished. Her father tapped her shoulder.

"I…I think you should go to your room, honey. I'll deal with this," Doc nodded to her encouragingly and gently pushed her in the right direction. She hesitated, but nodded and scurried off down the hallway. Casper still hadn't reappeared.

Dr. James Harvey pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and approached the somehow menacing door that separated him from his patient. He knocked on it, gently, trying not to come off strong or threatening.

"Stretch?" He said as casually as his nerves would allow him, "I think we need to talk."

Silence.

"Stretch?"

"Are dey gone, Doc?" The ghost's accent drifted weakly through the wood. The man jumped slightly, surprised that the haunt would answer so quickly. He cleared his throat.

"Casper and Kat? Yes, they're gone…Whoa!"

The ghost passed through the door and collided with the man's stomach, knocking the human over onto the floor like a strong, cold wind. James's glasses landed with a metallic clatter on the floor.

"Watch where yer goin', Doc!" Stretch coughed. The psychiatrist reached for his glasses, checking them for damage, and set them back on his face.

"Sorry, but I didn't know you were going to—" He stopped, his eyes adjusting to the sudden change. He stared at the ghost floating before him. Stretch shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny.

"What?" He barked, "So's I got da Boo-bonic Plague, it's not like it's catchin', or nuttin'."

The man on the floor automatically recoiled in fear and disgust. The ghost cocked an eyebrow and crossed his arms defensively.

"Man, you flesh-bags are wusses ta da umpteenth d'gree," he mumbled before breaking into a fit of coughing.

"Are you alright? What happened to you?" James whispered, raising himself from the ground, "What were those sounds?" The thin ghost rolled his eyes and snorted.

"Do I _look_ like I'm awright, Doc?" He said sarcastically and gestured to his transparent body. He groaned and rubbed his forehead, "I was throwin' up ectoplasm. Dat's some nasty shit, dere. Look, dese things happen sometimes. It ain't dat rare…well, it ain't dat common, neither, but…" He waved his hands in frustration, "But, anyways, I need ta try ta fix this before da convention on Friday. I need ya—"

"Stretch, today's Thursday," the psychiatrist interrupted.

"I know, I know, but—" The ghost hacked into his hand, leaving little drops of green slime on his palm.

"Stretch, you're not going to be able to go! I mean, just look at you! That's…those-those _things_ are only going to get worse!"

The ghost glared at the man hatefully.

"You don't unnerstan', _Doc_," he growled, his violet eyes grew dark and menacing, "Scarin' is all I got. It's my whole after-life! I ain't just gonna roll ova' an' do nothin' while da con is goin' on! I been waitin' for dis for-for a long time!"

"If I remember correctly," Dr. Harvey said, assuming his most authourative manner, "This 'Spook-a-thon'-thing occurs yearly." He adjusted his glasses, "You can go next year. End of discussion."

Stretch glared at the man lividly.

"It's a matta' of _pride_, bone-sack…"

"_End_ of discussion. Come on, now, you need to get in bed."

The spirit snarled like a rabid dog, "Who day a thin ya _ARE_, telling _ME_ what I can an' can't _DO_?"

"Because I'm your doctor," James said simply. Then he rubbed his chin in thought and added: "Hey, Stretch? Why did you want to send Kat and Casper away?"

The ghost paused for a moment, trying to comprehend the sudden tangent. His anger slowly slipped away and left him with a feeling of exhaustion.

"Ain't it obvious?" He said, "I mean, jus' _look _at me! It's kinda embarrassin'. " He rubbed at his shoulder and chuckled slightly, "Heh…I musta threw the little bulb-head all da way ta Beijing."

Dr. Harvey looked over the ghost's watery body and nodded understandingly. Then he knitted his brow.

"Wait," he raised a finger, "Why are you letting _me_ see you, then?"

"Huh? 'Cuz you're Doc, Doc," Stretch said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. The psychologist couldn't help but let a smile spread across his face.

"Trust is the first step towards a cure…" He said to himself softly.

"Huh? What'cha say?"

"Oh, nothing, Stretch," he started leading the ghost down the hallway, "Let's get you into bed, now. Kat and I will take care of you while Casper and the others are gone."

The ghost sighed, but allowed himself to be guided to the Trio's bedroom.

"Hey. What are those…those things, anyway," James asked as they neared the room.

"Ex-sore-cysts, Doc," Stretch said mournfully, "Da bane of a ghost's existence."

The psychiatrist grimaced. "What will happen to them? Will they…?" His stomach turned as his imagination run rampant.

"Dey explode, yeh," the ghost muttered distastefully, "It would be kinda fun, if only dey weren't so damn painful…Imagine one a dese dings poppin' ova' some meat-sack! Pure poetry…"

Dr. Harvey sighed as the two entered the Trio's filthy dwelling. The spirit fell limply onto his dusty bed, sifting his body through the top blanket, and solidifying below it. His liquid-like body made an awkward lump under the stained cover.

"Go fin' Bulb-Head," he muttered as he shifted into a comfortable position, "He knows where da book a' ghost illnesses is…but don' let 'im come in hea'," he added, threateningly, "Or I'll tear you a new one."

James nodded understandingly, "Using anger to cover suppressed emotions, check. I'll go see if Casper's back yet, then…you get some rest, buddy…"

The ghost didn't answer; he was already snoring lightly. The man smiled gently and shut the door behind him, casting the room in a deep shadow.

* * *

*Author's Note*

I shouldn't really even be writing this right now...I'm supposed to be working on my 'Darkwing Duck' fiction, but...but...

I don't really know how it happened. One day, I was reminiscing about the old Harvey comics that I read as a child, and I recalled my favourite character: Spooky, the "tuff little ghost". I loved Spooky. But, anyway, I didn't really think much of it, until, one day, I was browsing through the children's section of the library when I came across the first volume of the 90's, Spielburg-produced spin-off 'Casper' series. I picked it up, for some reason, not expecting much. Note: I had NOT seen the 1995 Casper movie at this time (I know, shame on me). But, as I watched the first episodes, I was enthralled at the presence of Spooky and "Poil", the great 90's pun-driven and pop-culture-referencing humour, and, most importantly, THE TRIO. Man, they made a sort of ass-kicking impression on me. Especially Stretch.

So I finally watched the 1995 Casper movie, and was promptly obsessed. Stretch is four dimensions of pure awesome.

That is my defense. Let's just say that I'm being possessed to drop my other fiction (that I was beginning to neglect, anyway, due to lack of response) to start a NEW one that will probably be read even LESS, thanks to the smallness and obscurity of the fan-base!

Sometimes I wonder...

ANYWAY-

*Notes*

-Spook-a-thon: I remember there being a recurring "Ghost Convention" in the original comics, or something. I made up the name, not remembering what the original, as well as the idea that it happens yearly. A yearly ghost convention doesn't really make that much sense, considering that ghosts work on a different time frame than humans, but it seemed to work for the story.

-Ectoplasm: The original 'Casper' ghosts don't really deal a lot with ectoplasm, but I thought it would be a fun concept. Anyway, it works for Stretch, because it makes his illness more convincing when he has nasty bodily discharges.

-The Boo-bonic Plague: I'm sure this is a pun that has been made before, but I thought it was a pretty good idea.

-Ex-sore-cysts: I. Am. Very. Proud. Of. This. Pun. I don't care what you think. It rules. And it adds to the mandatory gross-factor that every ghost story needs. These tumorous growths contain slimy green ectoplasm and smell like rancid bunny meat when they pop. THAT'S gonna be fun to write for.


End file.
